


En Media Res

by Clare_nightly



Series: Working Drafts [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clare_nightly/pseuds/Clare_nightly
Summary: Strike and Robin have it out.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Working Drafts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015717
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! It’s been a while since I’ve posted, due to a minor bout of writer’s block combined with other life events. Anyways, last night I was scrolling through Pinterest and happened to come across a list of prompts called “100 ways to crush your soul” and the writer’s block I had been experiencing magically vanished. :) Enjoy!

“There is no us. There never was.” She paused, her chest heaving, staring him down. “You make damn sure of that.” 

“That’s unfair, I—“

“Don’t you bloody dare lecture me on the unfairness of life, Cormoran,” she interrupted, pacing the small office feverishly. He’d never seen her this agitated. Suddenly, she stopped, right in front of him, so close he could smell her perfume. “I can’t do it anymore,” she whispered the words, as if coming to a revelation. 

“Will you just listen to me for two second—“ he demanded, fighting hard to keep his voice at a normal level, and losing. A wave of panic was rising within him, and he pushed it down. 

“I can’t watch you date other women, just as I can’t pretend to be interested in dating other men. It’s too painful,” she continued, looking beyond him out the window. “We’ve had so many chances, so many missed opportunities--”

“That you could just as easily have taken advantage of, Robin--” Strike interjected, angry at being assigned the majority of the blame. 

“I. Have. Tried!” she screamed at him, causing him to sit back into his seat in shock. “I have asked you to dinner, to drinks at the Tottenham--”

“Hang on--”

“Each and every time, always an excuse or an out—tired—work—Barclay—“ she gesticulated widely, pointing his excuses out, laying the evidence bare while he shook his head. She paused to take a breath, resolving to say the words that gave no one in the room any pleasure. “You are a coward, Strike. A bloody coward.” 

“Enough. I don’t have to listen to this, not in my own fucking office. Get out,” he threw her coat at her, feeling a strange sense of pride at having kept his voice at a relatively normal level. He longed to be alone, to drink, to sort through the multitude of emotions he was feeling in peace. 

“No,” she flatly refused. He stared at her, stony faced, and she laughed once without amusement. “We aren’t finished. And this is my office as much as yours,”

He slammed the bottle down on his desk, making Robin jump and take a step back. A moment passed. Strike pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing hard in visible effort to control himself. “Fine. Then I will,” he stood, and made a move to the door. To his surprise, Robin stepped in his way, looking up at him determinedly. 

“Look me in the eyes, and tell me that you haven’t thought about it. Thought about us.” She gestured between the two of them. 

Strike hesitated. “Course I have,” he mumbled. To her surprise, he turned around abruptly, and returned to his chair, letting his face fall into his hands. A moment passed. 

“Cormoran?” she asked, feeling a strange, joyless of triumph. He looked up, his eyes hollow and unseeing. 

“I have thought about it. And it’s not a good idea. Us seeing each other. Wish it could be different, but there’s no point in wishing, is there?” he said bitterly, avoiding looking at Robin’s expression. “It wouldn’t work. Us. I’m sorry,” he finished, and walked out of the office without waiting for an answer. 

Robin, feeling as if all her strength had fled her, crumpled to her knees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin, broken and breaking.

She was empty inside. It was a new experience, one that she’d heard described often enough, but never experienced first hand. It was as if there was nothing holding her up any more, no strength to think past the present feelings of pain and utter despair. 

Gutted completely. 

With nothing inside left to support her, she slid the short distance from her knees to the floor. 

The smooth wood was cold on her cheek. Tears began to pool behind her eyelids, and she squeezed them still tighter, biting her knuckles to hold back the racking sobs threatening to overtake her. 

Finished. Finished before they even started. Hot tears began to pour down her cheeks. 

No chance now. At least before, there was always the possibility. . . A feeling of bitter remorse filled her, her chest aching and twisting in response to this new emotion. She should have left things as they were, rather than taking the risk. . . then they’d still be best mates— 

Her sobs broke through her knuckles at the thought, and she slammed her other fist down on the floor in anguish, delighting at the distracting sensation of pain that shot up her arm. 

His words echoed. “Wish it could be different, but there’s no point in wishing, is there?”

Without thought, because thinking only brought pain, she stood up and began to wreak havoc on the office. 

Whiskey bottle to the wall. 

Papers torn, thrown about. 

Chair knocked over. 

Lamp to the ground. Shattering glass. Darkness. 

Breathing hard, she paused at the loss of light. The destruction had soothed her, allowed her to feel proactive in the midst of her pain. The office now resembled as it had her first day on the job, in complete disarray. It was fitting that it look the same on her last. 

Back to the door, she leaned over the desk—their desk—staring blankly at a case file as fresh tears slowly fell. 

“Robin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Robin’s feelings in this chapter partly on an experience I had after a breakup with who I thought was “the one”. Happy spoiler alert—I did end up marrying the guy years later. And I’m sorry for all the angst and pain! Good things will come for our duo... but not just yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike’s POV.

Strike stormed out of the room blindly, deliberately not allowing himself to look at her. If he did, he knew his resolve would crumble to pieces. 

Without conscious thought, he made his way down the stairs as quickly as he could, his knee screaming in protest. He welcomed the sharp pain, taking it as penance for the hurt he had caused her. 

His partner. 

He burst outside into the street, momentarily taken aback by how normal the world looked. Shouldn’t everything be different now? Darker, more somber? The holiday lights, blinking white and red, were almost offensive in their cheerfulness. 

He pulled out a cigarette frantically, lit it with shaking fingers, and took a deep drag, breathing it all out in a huff.

“Bloody coward.” Her words echoed. 

Strike pressed the base of his palms to his eyelids, desiring nothing more than to be drunk, more drunk than he’d ever been in his life, to banish the last half hour forever from memory. 

Why, he wondered, did life have to be so fucking complicated? Was it too much to ask that he love—yes, love, there was no point in denying it any longer—someone that wasn’t so intrinsically tied to his livelihood? Why did each aspect of his life have to intrude upon the others, rather than stay neatly compartmentalized? 

Thinking of Joan unwillingly, Strike forced himself to imagine a future without Robin. 

Utterly joyless. 

The pain of it shocked him. There was nothing in his imaginings that would appear particularly awful to an outsider—just him, working cases and sleeping and taking tea and life going on, on, on. But each visually was punctuated with aching loneliness. 

Working cases—alone. Sleeping—alone. Drinking tea—alone. 

Life, with all of its ups and downs, joys and sorrows, faced—alone. 

“Bloody coward.” 

He took another drag, steeling his resolve. This was it. No turning back. One opportunity, one chance to have it all—

Strike dropped his cigarette decisively, smashing it underfoot, and turned back into the building. He took his time going up, in order to show his knee some courtesy as well as to give his mind a chance to organize his thoughts. 

He would prove her wrong. He was no coward.   
One chance. 

He entered the office. Her form was leaned over their desk, long golden hair spilling down her back, apparently absorbed in the papers on the desk. Now or never. 

Strike called her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with my story! Only one chapter to go. . . 
> 
> Any suggestions or requests for the ending are welcome ☺️


End file.
